


Claiming Game

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Series: Special Things [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dark Gabriel, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, Fear, Head Injury, Horror, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Series, Romance, Supernatural Rare OTP Fic-a-Month Challenge, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-27 05:57:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5036446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel’s hands are always in his eyes, as if trying to make something work. </p><p>As if trying to make Dean work again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boundless

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPN Rare OTP Fic-a-Month Challenge for October’s prompt fear/horror. 
> 
> Also a fill on my h/c_bingo card for ‘head trauma.’
> 
>  **Series:** Part 3 of _Special Things_

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was Dean who only ever had an interest in this, in _them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Soundtrack:** Lyrics are from Crossfade’s ‘Starless’

_~If only you could watch me fall_

_I cannot feel it anymore_

_The soul you cut the soul you adore_

_Cannot feel you anymore_

_Cause you’ve run through me with destructive force~_

* * *

 

_You’re sorta special to me, kiddo. You’re the only one who ever followed me._

It’s Gabriel who follows him now. Into his dreams, twenty feet behind him but every time Dean turns around there’s no one there. He doesn’t do much all day but walk around the farm Gabriel led him to, ranting and raving for Gabriel to let him out or just kill him already. He’ll walk for miles and miles but only end back up right where he started, cursing under his breath, Gabriel’s chuckling seeming to fill the air around him.

His head throbs for days and days, courtesy of the concussion Dean is sure but also not so sure Gabriel gave him. If Gabriel wanted to sneak up on him, Dean’s sure there were plenty of other ways to do it other than knocking him out and proceeding to try to kill him with heat, all while not telling Dean a damn thing and not answering any of his questions.

Except that he’s an archangel. With wings.

Wings that seem hell bent on crushing him. Yet not here. There have been no instances of the shadow of those wings on the wall here. He sleeps on the floor of the barn, no weapons, no clue what the hell he’s doing here or when Gabriel will let him leave. Not sure whether he’s dreaming all of this up, the last ten years of his life.

Gabriel as only a figment of Dean’s imagination.

In his dreams there is Dean waking up with Gabriel hovering over him and how he knows it’s only a dream because Gabriel’s eyes are wide and golden, but not unnaturally so, and his hands are gentle as they probe Dean’s still bleeding head. It’s impossible, but it’s his blood that’s heating him up, making him feverish, and even though his rational mind tells him that Gabriel’s warping his mind to make it seem like his blood sizzles and then evaporates moments after it hits the wood floor, it still seems so fitting in both worlds that have stopped making sense: his dreamworld and reality.

He’ll wake up - or whatever the hell it _really_ is - and his head will be pounding like some freaking storm is playing out inside it, thunder and lightning, the whole shebang. He’ll close his eyes and feel liquid dripping down past his eyelids and onto his cheeks, but after a few minutes the feeling dissipates and Dean’s simply _there_ , propped up against the wall behind him, sunlight filtering in through the cracks and warming up his back, and he’ll touch his forehead but it’ll be dry, hair sticky with nothing but sweat.

What the hell Gabriel has to gain from this, Dean doesn’t know.

He just wishes he would know which Gabriel is real: the one that never shows up or the one in his dreams that maybe aren’t dreams at all.

Sometimes he dreams and he’s still fighting, the figure never made out clearly no matter how hard he looks, his fists never making impact and then it’s his head being slammed into the wall over and over, by someone he can’t place and can’t name, but someone whose hands he can’t really feel and therefore can’t fight against. It’s the blood that freaks him out, _his blood_ , how often he sees it, how it makes him nauseous just to feel it blossom at his scalp and then trickle down to his eyes. No matter how much he rubs them he can still feel the warm liquid seeping into his eyes, no matter how much of it coats his knuckles and palms he’s still blinded by it.

Gabriel’s also there after he has these dreams, or maybe he’s still dreaming and it’s the same scene from earlier played back and forth, except Dean can’t exactly form words this time, or see much of anything.

But the golden flash that temporarily robs him of even the little sight he gains is unmistakable, nor the hands that clutch Dean’s head too hard, fingernails digging into his scalp until Dean’s gritting his teeth. There’s Dean struggling to get ground under him, feet slipping on the wood as they try to get under him and prop him up because Gabriel’s holding him up and his hands are too _cold_ and his fingers are like claws as they poke him and prod him and wipe the blood out of his eyes.

Dean knows Gabriel can do more, but he sits there, tense and hating every second of it, not able to talk past the dryness in his throat, not able to see much of anything except what Gabriel wants him to. _Help me fucking see!_ Dean screams in his head because he knows Gabriel can hear him there, if he presses inside Dean’s mind in a way that sometimes Dean can’t even feel. Most of the time Dean can feel though and that’s all he does. Gabriel wants him to feel, wants him to feel uncomfortable and stumble on the edge of his sanity with just enough fear.

One day he decides to go limp in Gabriel’s arms, trying to get a rise out of him. Gabriel laughs and holds him up higher, further away from the ground and Dean thinks he’ll drop him, slam his head into the wood beneath him, but Gabriel’s arm tightens from where it lies at his back and what feels like his leg comes up to further hold Dean in place, and there are his hands again, freezing hands grasping his cheek and then wiping the blood out of his eyes.

A protest bubbles its way out of Dean’s mouth because Gabriel’s hands are in his eyes and they’re fucking freezing and Dean has to do something other than lay here.

“Relax,” Gabriel’s familiar voice speaks into his ear. “Damn… I _love_ it when you’re unresponsive.” Gabriel moans and Dean tenses again. He’s never heard that particular sound come out of Gabriel’s mouth, not even after all the nights they spent together growing up. Gabriel was always quiet beneath him, as if even a sound would make everything too real and give him the only excuse he needed to leave Dean hanging. Because it was always Gabriel pushing him away, always Gabriel who was the first to leave while Dean would lay there and be completely willing every single time to never go back to his dad and brother and later just his dad.

It was Dean who only ever had an interest in this, in _them._

It’s the reason why Gabriel didn’t fight to stay put. It’s the reason why Dean followed him as he went to summer school. With his own intentions, Gabriel let him into his bed for the first time even though it was a twin and Dean could hardly move around in it, even though it meant that Gabriel’s hands were always on him. Then he couldn’t sleep and there were wings on the wall, crushing him even though it wasn’t real. If it was a way to make Dean leave then fine, but he had woken up without remembering when he fell asleep and Gabriel was gone and there was the _note._

_If you care_

_Follow me._

Dean hadn’t but it hardly matters now. Gabriel had been stalking him and maybe even led him here with the hunt. Gabriel had most likely knocked him out and given him lasting head damage, even though it makes no sense given that Gabriel’s hands are on his head all the damn time. Maybe it’s only with a touch that Gabriel can control him, keep him here and trapped in a reality that only feels like more dreams. Make Dean bleed in his dreams.

The murmur seems to come an eternity later, not the same day, not the same moment. “Trying to reverse the damage, if you would just keep _still.”_ He hadn’t even realized he was moving. It isn’t like he can feel anything, not until Gabriel’s hands are in his eyes again, then he can feel his own hands shoving them away, without being able to control them or any other part of his body. Why won’t Gabriel just leave him the hell alone instead of all this touching? “That thing did a number on you.” Gabriel’s words again, whirling around in his head.

 _Yeah_ , Dean thinks. _You._

In the past, Gabriel had always seemed impervious to touch. Like it hardly registered in his brain. Dean rarely touching him but every time he did, Gabriel wouldn’t respond. Gabriel would sling an arm around Dean’s shoulder or poke him or grab him and push Dean where he wanted him, as if it was all no big deal, even though he knew Dean hated being touched.

Just like now. Gabriel’s hands always in his goddamn eyes, as if trying to make something work.

As if trying to make Dean work again.


	2. Transparency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First there’s a portion, then there’s the entirety of Gabriel diving into him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Soundtrack:** Lyrics are still from Crossfade’s ‘Starless’

_~Somehow I feel like I’m starless_

_I’m ready to fade now_

_That’s how I feel when I’m starless_

_I’m hopeless and grayed out_

_Somehow I feel like I’m starless_

_I’m ready to burn out~_

* * *

 

When he wakes there are hands squeezing his throat, as if trying to grasp something underneath his skin.

Hands cover the other hands, cold hands that pull the others away and start the breath back up in Dean’s lungs. There is no huge breath that pulls its way out of Dean’s throat though, there is him lying there and not moving, no longer knowing how to move and no longer caring about remembering. He gets snatches of what’s going on but nothing more: Gabriel’s fingers prodding at his scalp, Gabriel pressing a bottle of water to his mouth and Dean choking as he tries to swallow and then darkness, Gabriel talking about something but his words garbled and making absolutely no sense except _okay_ and _it’s okay._

There are dreams now where Dean is slipping and sliding in his own blood, liquid curling up between his toes because his boots are no longer there. When he’s flat on his back he can’t stand it, but Gabriel holding him up is worse because he wants to trust him and he _can’t_. 

The wings were black last time only because they were in shadows on the wall, but now they’re a tawny brown that may not seem as dark and foreboding but are surreal all the same. In fact, it’s their true color that makes them look even more real, like that Dean was so wrong about Gabriel. So, so _off._

The feathers seem less like jagged teeth now then sharp things that grate at Dean’s subconscious. There are so many of them and each one is longer than the length of Dean’s hand. He has no idea what they feel like, not even when they brush his throat as their true purpose plays out on the wall. The image is fragmented because they’re in a barn and there is moonlight peeking in through the spaces in between the wood planks that make up the wall, but the wings are wrapping around him again and it feels so much different from last time, the first time. Dean’s expecting it now, expects not being able to feel a damn thing because it isn’t real, because in Gabriel’s world it is real.

It’s also different because Dean sits back now rather than freezes in place, alone, watching the scene of his death play out before him. The colors of Gabriel’s wings fade into gray and then finally black as they release Dean. He closes his eyes after that, bored, but when he opens them again the wings are no longer on the walls of the barn, walls that seem to be twisting and turning now, but they’re right in front of him.

If Dean ever doubted their existence before, he can’t now.

The wings spread out even wider, blocking Dean from seeing anything else in front of him, resting on either side of him like an extra set of arms that Dean has to fight against. And he would fight too, if he wasn’t so tired, if his mind didn’t keep on slipping back and forth from lethargy to action. 

Gabriel’s hands land on his arms and Dean can feel the sensation, but can no longer gauge temperature. If he tilts his head a certain way it’s more like Gabriel’s hands are going underneath his skin, moving inside him, setting his blood on fire again. It’s the wings piercing his back that Gabriel wants him to feel, each individual feather finding a point of entry and even if Dean thinks about it all he can focus on is the warm blood dripping down his back. Not gushing but just dripping. Dean’s drowning again, clothes and body coated in his own blood. There’s no way he could have lost this much blood, although maybe that’s why his head won’t stop pounding. There’s really no way he should still be alive, no way in hell and yet it’s still true.

He doesn’t even have to detach himself, it’s what his mind automatically defaults to. There’s so much blood and he’s so sick of falling in it that he no longer cares if it’s his own or not. Gabriel’s wings don’t feel like a part of him either. They feel like something else, something far more sinister, another force that has little to do with Gabriel.

But now the shadows on the wall are real, at least how much of it he can see. A hundred knives entering his back, a back arched that he’s now seeing for the first time. Dean’s mouth open in a silent scream, the wall shifting to become a gaping mirror that pulses obscenely to some beat. There are rivers of blood running down his arms, evaporating when they reach the floor.

_If you care_

_Follow me._

Dean jerks as the wings twitch, the tips of the feathers shifting inside him, all at the same time so there is no one area of agony. The hands still seem to disappear inside him, like Gabriel is claiming him. Like Gabriel has to be a part of him.

_You’re the only one who ever followed me._

There is no rational mind inside Dean anymore. There is only the total in-existence of feeling and when Gabriel wants him to feel. _What_ he wants Dean to feel. And who the hell even knows what’s real anymore? He doesn’t think because there’s no longer the capacity inside him: he pulls himself further upright and falls forward into the body blocking him. The feathers are ripped from his back and his knees sink into something cold and sticky, but the body doesn’t move, doesn’t let him fall flat on his face.

 _Yes_ , Dean says. _Yes, I will follow you down._

He could be imagining it, but Gabriel’s golden eyes smile back at him in the pool of red.

* * *

 

Gabriel is inside him next, and Dean does not mean certain parts of him.

There is the issue that none of this is real because Dean never gave his consent to be Gabriel’s vessel. At least, not that Dean remembers. Yet when Dean looks down at himself - he can’t find it in himself to be startled that he’s been stripped completely naked - he can see something moving beneath his skin. Hands pushing up from underneath his chest, leaving barely an indent before they move on. Eyes burning a hole through the skin of his neck, Dean’s own hands trying to cover up their heat.

The prickle of feathers underneath his skin at his back, their jagged yet no less sharp tips bursting through his skin as Gabriel stops swimming inside him.

The wall is still there, too much like a mirror again, and if Dean turns _just the right way_ the wings look like his own, sticking out through his own back, protruding like dozens of knives, blood running down the skin that hasn’t been split open. Gabriel is curled up inside him like a virus lying dormant, fingers often questing, _yearning_ as they display themselves underneath Dean’s fingers, as if Dean’s skin has become transparent. He can feel this incredible warmth everywhere that Gabriel touches, but this hypnotizing cold everywhere Gabriel is no longer, as if all the other parts of him have died, no longer graced by the archangel.

Dean is sure he never gave his permission, positive that Gabriel would never be able to do this unless he had. It doesn’t matter either way because Gabriel _is_ inside him, and there is something akin to electricity running through Dean’s brain, a painful sensation to block out the pounding of his definite head injury. It doesn’t slip past him that he could be dreaming all of this, that maybe that wall damaged his brain and he’s just thinking all this up, overactive imagination and all. Gabriel has to be really here though, it can’t be weakness to want him alive and _here._

He moves with every twitch of Gabriel’s limbs, bites back a cry when the wings flex, tearing through more of him. As if his body is nothing more than Gabriel conquering territory.

“Gabriel.”

It’s the final push that Gabriel wanted.

The wings expand and Dean’s mouth opens but no sound comes out. Like Gabriel has stolen his voice. Dean half expects that when words come out they’ll belong to Gabriel and not to him, or at least in Gabriel’s voice, but it’s another thing in a long line of things that Dean no longer has the brain capacity to think about for long.

Gabriel is moving again, hands and feet reaching the outermost corners of his body. Dean can feel glee somehow, _Gabriel’s glee_ , as if he has taken up refuge in Dean. The heat spreads until it becomes oppressive, until it burns behind Dean’s eyes and then Dean _sees._ Sees his new golden eyes in the mirror, the smile in them. He blinks and on the walls there are shadows again: Gabriel’s _hands,_ one on the side of Dean’s head and the other splayed out on Dean’s arm as he kisses him. Dean winces at the sight, can feel the bruising around his mouth at the force of Gabriel’s own, can feel the warmth narrow down to a single point on his tongue before it explodes, blossoming, telling a different story than the one Dean’s living.

Dean’s shadow doesn’t pull away from Gabriel’s when fingers push their way in-between his lips, but it does recoil as Gabriel pulls a feather out of his mouth. 

It is Dean’s best wish, Gabriel taking him in under his skin and not the other way around.

“I _have_ taken you in, Dean.” The voice echoes throughout the channels of his mind. And any thoughts of pleading are done, any memories of what Gabriel was before Dean followed him are _lost._ “You are _mine.”_

Dean sticks to the shadows on the wall; however, even if they are no longer real.

**FIN**


End file.
